jusqu'à demain mon amour (until tomorrow my love)
by pococo
Summary: When she was young she dreamed of fire and burning. When she is 18 she travels to France and meets a man she swears she knows. She is 18, going on immortal, when she meets the love of her life for the first time in this life and she realizes eternity might not be so bad if she has her precious France with her. France/Harry Potter (Jeanne d'Arc) Fem!Harry Reincarnated Jeanne D'Arc
1. Chapter 1

1.

When she was younger all she dreamed of was fire. Since before she could even remember as a young girl the fire consumed her thoughts and dreams and would not leave. Even when she had dreamed of her parents demise it ended in the bright glow of fire and the smell of smoke.

She would wake coughing as if he lungs were filled with the acidic smell of wood and flesh burning. Her aunt, who didn't treat her as she deserved but wasn't as terrible as she would have been if she was born male, took her to doctors trying to figure out what was going on. Many suggested it was latent memories of her parent's deaths. But to her it just did not feel right.

And so next her Aunt turned to spiritualism. It was there that she fell in love with God. Her nightmares abated slightly to the point she was not waking up with a scream on her lips every night. In the church she felt loved and wanted.

And then she was sent to Hogwarts. Hogwarts where her parents went.

She was excited at first but then she was crushed when everyone wanted to be her friend because of her supposed fame. It was he parent's sacrifice that saved her, not anything she did herself. She just didn't get it.

The only saving grace was the fact that she was sorted into Hufflepuff and they were content to leave her be for the most part.

The years dragged on and slowly she was made the martyr in the war against Voldemort. These were her people and regardless if they liked her or not they needed her. And so when she willingly walked her death she didn't hesitate.

She walked with the ghosts of her parents and Sirius, the feeling of _love love love_ in the back of her mind clinging to her. The resurrection stone clenched tightly in her hands, her cloak of invisibility on her back like a mantle.

Voldemort jeered at her as she arrived in the clearing and unseen in the forest a shadow watched closely beckoning her forward chanting in their mind, _master master master_.

Jeanne Lyra Potter willingly walked her death. But unlike her past life where she _burned burned burned_, she woke up once more.

But this time she woke up forever cursed to an eternal life.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Jeanne had always been interested in France and their language. One day she was sitting in the local church praying as she did most days of the week when she was able to make it when she heard the smooth tones of the language. Curious she had picked her head up and spotted a Nun that she had not recognized. After the Sister was done speaking with the Father Jeanne had moved closer to where the nun was, hiding.

Of course Jeanne at the time was only about 6 years old so she was not the best hider and the sister knew she was there. She had introduced herself as Elise Arcand and told the young girl she had been transferred there from a church in France because she had family living in England.

Jeanne had also introduced herself and when Elise had pronounced the young girls name the French way something had sparked in deep in the girls chest. From then on she only let people pronounce her name that way. Elise had also taken to tutoring the young girl in french when she had expressed a deep interest in the language.

Even though Jeanne had her Aunt, Elise had become something like a mother to her. Even after going to Hogwarts and the war she always had Elise to turn to when she needed comfort and a trustful ear.

So that's why when Elise asked her if she wanted to travel to France with her after her 18th birthday Jeanne agreed quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

Francis Bonnefoy, also known as the nation of France, sighed. Rubbing his forehead with his fingers he looked over the bustling streets of his capitol, Paris. More and more he found himself melancholy wishing for bygone days. Or perhaps his old age was catching up to him.

The only enjoyment he found these days was from teasing England and spending time with his former colony and son-of-his-heart Canada.

Briefly his mind flashed to half forgotten vivid green eyes and dark blonde hair. Bright smiles on full lips and proclamations of love towards him, her country. Then the flash of bright fire and screams, forced to watch the only mortal he had ever loved romantically go up in flame.

_Jeanne_, he whispers in his mind. His precious Jeanne of Arc. He hopes wherever she is now she is happy. Even to this day he can't forgive himself forher death. True it was her choice to come to him and fight for her country and yet.

Sighing once more he took a sip of his tea scanning the streets once more before looking down at his table. As a quasi-immortal person, watching was so fascinating. To humans their lives seemed long, but a nation such as he was, it was but a blink of an eye. Sometimes he wonders if he'll ever find someone to love forever. The ever changing politics of nations don't lead to lasting relationships and marriages. It truly was the one terrible part of his being.

"Monsieur, are you alright?" A voice, a voice so achingly familiar asked him. France looked up, the bright rays of the sun seemed to illuminate the woman who asked him the question. She was beautiful with long golden hair braided over both shoulders. Her eyebrows scrunched up drawing attention to her vivid green eyes.

France's breath caught in his throat. I-It was….

"_Jeanne?"_


	4. Chapter 4

Jeanne, for that was Jeanne he would recognize her even centuries later, blinked at him. Pursing her lips she tugged on the bottom of one her braids tilting her head. Narrowing her eyes she said in clipped tones, "sorry? Just how do you know my name?"

Ah, Francis thought to himself, so it was her name. Perhaps it really was his Jeanne. Backtracking slightly Francis gave her a small smile. "Sorry you just remind me of someone I knew a long time ago who, coincidently was also named Jeanne."

Jeanne hummed a little in contemplation before sighing. She eyed the seat next to him at his table. "Do you mind if I sit with you monsieur?"

Francis nodded quickly, heart pounding in his chest. "Of course, of course, come sit!" She smiled at him and the breath left him suddenly. Jeanne was still as beautiful as the day she burned. Francis vowed then and there that he would always protect that smile. No harm will come to her again as long as he breathed.

"Merci." She gracefully sat down at the table. It was interesting to see the changes that this modern era had on her. It appeared that she still kept with the faith considering the cross he saw hanging from her neck. But where the Jeanne-of-the-Past was raised in a rural village as the daughter of peasants and had the appearance and grace of such this Jeanne seemed to have the bearing of nobility and the upper class.

He loved her regardless.

"So, my lady, what brings you here this fair day?" Francis winked at her jokingly. Jeanne blushed slightly.

"I'm on vacation." She spotted a server and waved him over to order tea. After that was done she turned back to the nation. "I'm from England and a Sister I'm close too from my church is visiting some family here and invited me along as a sort of graduation present."

The server arrived with her tea. She thanked them and stared at her cup before looking up at Francis. "Also… it will sound weird but… I've always been fascinated with France. Ever since I was a young girl I loved the language and always wanted to visit. Something was drawing me here and here I am."

Francis, France, blushed a little at her statement of loving the country, him. He loved her too… if only it would not be creepy to just proclaim that to her right away.

"Here you are," Francis agreed.

"It's weird," She mused looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "You feel… familiar. Like I knew you once a long time ago."

He wanted to cry. Some part of her remembered him and he idly wondered if she would ever fully remember her past life.

"It sounds crazy but… as a child I used to have these dreams. Dreams of fire and screaming. Your voice… reminds me of the man who was screaming and crying." She blinked. "Oh I'm sorry! You must think I'm crazy or something for dumping this on a stranger… forgive me."

"Non, its alright my dear." Francis soothed her. His eyes were suspiciously wet. "It is quite alright… Say I don't believe we've actually introduced ourselves. My name is Francis Bonnefoy."

"Pleased to meet you Francis Bonnefoy. I am Jeanne Potter." Potter… what a particularly none french surname, Francis mused. Well she did say she was raised in England.

"Say Mlle. Jeanne," Francis smiled at her. "How would you like to accompany me somewhere tonight?"

Jeanne blinked and then blushed deeply. "_L-Like a date_?" She squeaked, momentarily switching back to English in her shock. "Like… like a date?" she finally repeated in French.

"Exactly that. I would very much love it if you do, my dear."

She seemed to think for a moment before nodding shyly. "O-Okay… I'll go on a date with you."

Francis grinned. "Wonderful."


End file.
